The warm weather and open windows was a fluke.
The past few days have leapt down into the 30s and 40s.
Last night we went to Target to pick up some milk for Minion, and lo and behold, it was snowing.
Dogwoods in the snow. That wind was fierce, too.
Minion sure does know how to shop though.
The boy was in his frog-footed pajamas, had the sunshield up to protect him from the wind, AND was snuggled under a nice thick furry blanket.
If only we could all shop like that. Oh wait . . . the Internet! Yesss.
Some of you have been asking about The Thorns . . . why no stories about them.
Thorns have been somewhat calm lately . . . but perhaps that was because the gate was down for the past month.
Yes. That IS probably it . . . because Knobby fixed the gate yesterday. He came back up, we had dinner, then set out for Target.
I’d seen lots of lights on the driveway as I fed Minion, so I “bet” Knobby how many cars would be parked in our driveway.
I bet too low. Silly Pixy.
We approached the gate to find that . . . it SEEMS (we cannot be sure) . . . that, for some really dumb reason, one of the visitors . . . decided they’d PUSH the gate open.
With the motorized arm and all . . .this is a big no-no. We sat there and cycled it closed and open and closed etc . . . and it worked fine. So perhaps it was some mechanical fluke.
But I don’t fall for that.
When we returned, there were even MORE cars in our drive.
Here we were, approaching the big curve, which had MORE cars past the blue — you can see the yellow front reflector there to the right. Please excuse my craptastic flash-flooded picture here. Knobby didn’t want me complaining.
But when people were using the driveway as a PARKING LOT, he couldn’t exactly go faster than a crawl, you know. S0 . . . HA.
I don’t complain, Knobby . . . I give you the Miss Piggy Scowl and mutter all sorts of comments about how we are far from our college days and this sort of willy-nilly house party streetparking of one’s crappy college car all smashed up in other people’s bumpers (like, seriously. not an inch between them, all violating the bumpers of others, it’s appalling), while I entertain wistful thoughts of flamethrowers and bulldozers.
And snap craptastic flash pictures like a technologically-vapid tourist. Obviously.
Yesterday I was typing away at my desk, here in the guest room, and some suspicious noises made me turn around. To find this:
The large box underneath him is my preserved wedding gown box from J.Scheer in New York. And I do not know how he did this, but he pulled that diaper box all by himself, from where it was sitting on top of the Huggies wipes box.
My little closet project got postponed, so the gown had nowhere to go — there are SO few places one can put such a large box that has to stay flat and can’t be in moisture, after all.
The room looks a mess . . . well, that’s what happens when the MinionCyclone wakes. You survive the day, you put him to bed, come back downstairs, and drag yourself around putting all the toys in baskets or on tables or wherever they go. You briefly feel orderly calm . . . but when he wakes in the morning, the toys have exploded once again. Sometimes before he’s even had his breakfast bottle.
Just take your Valium.
This guest bed is frequently my saviour. Sometimes because it is a place to throw the box where he cannot climb on it . . . others, just because hallelujah, I can creep from my desk to the bed when he takes a nap in the pack and play. And it is so merciful to LAY DOWN and stare at the ceiling. Whew.
You’ve asked for a Minion Update. Minion is:
~Zooming around “walking” by pushing laundry baskets, chairs, diaper boxes, everything. Laps around the house.
~Almost confident to stand without touching anything. He’s getting braver about turning loose of things and making it from one prop to another.
~Babbling incoherent sentences.
~”Hugging” by putting his head down against your shoulder. Or bowing his head and pushing his forehead against yours while he’s being held.
~Trying to play with Coco so desperately. He is a bit slappy with his hands still, so you almost can’t blame her, but she won’t even give him a chance when he goes down and lies next to her on the floor. He’s trying to lay there on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, kicking his feet . . . as children would do to discuss whatever children discuss. She may stay still for 20 seconds but is soon deserting him. It’s a little sad scene for him, honestly.
~Slowly learning that if you climb up on something . . . you have to be really careful how you climb DOWN from it as well. Climbs up in Coco’s foot-high bed (it’s a little miniature bedframe and all), whether she’s there or not, and thinks he is the cat’s pajamas. He used to swan dive right off the edge . .. but he dismounted twice today successfully.
And finally for the night . . .
~Is “brushing” his hair with a comb and teeth with a baby toothbrush. Acts as though this is the PINNACLE of his fun for the day.
(This makes the comb and toothbrush FANTASTIC diversions while he is on the changing table. Lessens the crocodile rolls.)
He’s so much fun.